He sits back in his chair; his eyes are alight with mischief. “That’s because I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Tristan.” I lean forward in my chair.

He leans forward, too, mimicking me. “Yes, Claire.”

“Be a good boy, and you might get what you want.”

He smiles darkly. “Or be a bad boy, and take it anyway.”

The air crackles between us; our eyes are locked, and nerves flutter deep in my stomach.

I think those two lines just summed up the entirety of Tristan Miles.

I can kid myself all I want about being in charge.

We both know I’m not.

Tristan

We’re in a busy and bustling restaurant. It’s late, after one o’clock in the morning, and we are sitting side by side at the bar.

The mood of the place is loud and jovial, and music is piped throughout the space.

We’ve had dinner, and I haven’t laughed this much since I don’t know when.

Claire Anderson is fucking hilarious.

She’s tipsy and relaxing more and more by the minute. I like her like this. I mean, I like her anyway, but she is at her best when her defenses are down.

She’s wearing a fitted black dress with spaghetti straps and stilettoes. Her thick shoulder-length dark hair is down, and she’s wearing minimal makeup.

She has no idea how fucking sexy she is.

It’s the weirdest thing—she’s everything that I’ve never found attractive before.

And I don’t even know what it is about her, but I find myself hanging on her every word.

“Tell me.” She smiles as she takes my hand in hers. “How are you still single?”

I smile and pick up our hands and bring them to my mouth. I kiss hers and then shrug.

“How old are you?” She frowns.

“How old do you want me to be?”

“You only say that if you’re a prostitute.”

I widen my eyes. “How do you know I’m not? How do you know that Marley hasn’t paid me to seduce you?”

Her lips twist as she fights a smile. “How much is she paying you?”

“There isn’t enough money in the world.” I smirk into my glass as I take a sip. “Keeping you satisfied is a dirty job. I bit off more than I can chew. I’m demanding a pay raise.”

The woman at the bar beside us looks at me and then turns to the bar, as if revolted.

My eyes widen. She heard me. Claire tips her head back and laughs out loud.

I tap the woman on the arm. “She’s not paying me,” I whisper. “I’m seducing her for free.” I cross my fingers on my chest. “And I’m not chewing. It’s all licking.”

Claire really loses it and laughs hard, and I find myself laughing too.

I fall serious and watch her laugh for a moment, because what I told the woman is not even true.

Claire Anderson is seducing me.

“Answer my question,” she says.

“I’m thirty-four.”

“And you’re still single?” She frowns as she contemplates my age. “How is that possible?”

I sip my drink. “I don’t know.” I shrug. “I’ve had four serious relationships over the course of time.”

“And they didn’t work out?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“You’re very nosy, Anderson.”

She giggles. “I know. You ask me a question next.”

I smile and clink my glass with hers. “I’ll start thinking of one now.” I narrow my eyes, as if concentrating.

“Well?” she prompts me. “Answer my question first.”

How do I say this . . . I’m fucked up, and something is wrong with me?

That I’ve been searching for something for years, but I have no idea what it actually is?

Just tell her the easy version.

“I don’t know, to be honest. The girls I went out with were all beautiful—perfect, actually.” She watches me intently. “But when push came to shove, I didn’t want to fight for it.”

“Meaning what?”

“Well, as history repeats, I seem to have a time limit for relationships.” I smile at her fascination. “Like a use-by date.”

“A use-by date,” she scoffs. “What does that mean? How many times you have sex with them?”

I laugh at the double meaning. “No, not that . . . for God’s sake.”

She puts her hand on my thigh.

“I seem to meet someone, and then we fall into a routine and . . .” I pause.

“What?”

“She falls in love with me and wants to move in and have marriage and babies, and I, for some reason, find something wrong with her and begin to back off.”

She listens intently.

“I don’t know what it is.” I sip my drink. “I don’t know why I’m like this. The second girlfriend I had was probably the one. I adored her. Was sad for years when we broke up.”

“But you didn’t love her?”

“I don’t know.” I put my hand on top of hers on my leg.

“So she left you?”

“No. I left her.”

“But if you were sad for years about it, why didn’t you just go back to her?”

“I didn’t want to.”

She frowns as she watches me.

“I mean, what is love?” I bite my bottom lip as I think; how did we get onto this deep subject? “I mean, define being in love with someone, Anderson. Because I can’t; for the life of me I can’t.”

“Well.” She thinks for a moment. “I think it’s just like having a best friend who you want to fuck.”

I smirk. “That sounds pervy.”

“It is a bit.” She giggles.

I watch her for a moment. “What was your husband like?”

Her shoulders instantly slump. “He was . . .” Her demeanor becomes sad. “He was a great man. Proud.” Her focus shifts from me to a spot over the bar. “I miss him every day.”

I squeeze her hand in mine. “What kind of wife were you?” I ask.

She smiles at my change of the subject. “I was a great wife.”

“Really?” I fake shock. “I find that hard to believe.”

She laughs. “Maybe just an all right wife.”

“And you have kids?” I ask.

“Uh-huh, three boys.”

I scrunch up my nose. “I can’t actually believe that.”

“Why not?” she scoffs.

“I’ve never been with anyone who has kids before.”

“What? Never?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. It’s weird, come to think of it. I have a very specific type of woman that I’m attracted to.”

She laughs and holds her hands up in the air. “Wait, let me guess.”

I chuckle as I hold my hand up for another round of drinks. I’m feeling very inebriated. “Please do.”

“Hot body.”

I tip my glass in agreement.

“Young.”

“Affirmative.”

She narrows her eyes at me as she thinks. “I’m saying blonde.”

“You’re nailing me here.” I chuckle. “Every time.”

Her eyes dance with delight. “So she has to be a natural blonde with a hot body and younger than you.”

“Pretty much.”

“What else does she have to have?”

I roll my lips as I think. “I like trendy girls.”

“Trendy girls,” she scoffs. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know why, but I like girls who are into fashion.”

“Like . . . models?” She frowns.

“No, not necessarily models, but girls who are into dressing nice and look after themselves.”

“Handbags.”

I smirk with a shrug.

“You like girls who look good on your arm.”

“Possibly.” I chuckle at her analogy. “Why, what do you like in men?”

She raises her eyebrows as she thinks. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know what I like. I only had two boyfriends before Wade and then . . . you.”

I smile over at her. I like that there’s not many. “And what did you like about me?”

“Well.” She falls serious. “I wanted to turn you.”

“Turn me.” I frown as I take a big gulp of my drink. “Into what?”

“A motherfucker.”

I snort, and my drink dribbles onto my chin. “What?” I splutter.

“I want to go down in the history books as the woman who officially turned Tristan Miles into a motherfucker.”

I laugh out loud as I take a napkin and wipe my face.

This woman is hilarious. I grab her in a headlock and nearly pull her off her chair. People around us all watch our drunken behavior. “If I had known how fun it was to fuck around with an aged duck, I would have been doing it long ago,” I whisper in her ear.

She laughs and punches me under my coat and pulls out of my grip. She fixes her hair in an overexaggerated way. “I’ll have you know I’m not even old, Mr. Miles.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m thirty-eight.”

I smile. “Only four years older than me.”

“Why, how old did you think I was?”

“At least”—I smirk as I think of a number—“sixty.”

“Tristan!” she cries.

I grab the back of her head and drag her in to kiss me. She smiles against my lips. “Don’t try and sweeten the last comment with those magic lips,” she whispers.

I put my mouth to her ear so that nobody else can hear me. “What about my magic tongue?”

She smirks.

“Did you know I’m good with my tongue?” I nibble on her ear, and she giggles as she tries to escape me. What must we look like to other people? Carrying on like teenagers.

“I am well aware of your strengths, Mr. Miles.”

I hold her face and kiss her. I completely lose focus on where we are, and my eyes close in pleasure.

Oh, this woman . . . she makes me forget everything and everyone. When I open my eyes again, I see her smiling dreamily up at me. “What’s that look for?” I ask.

She becomes thoughtful and cups my face in her hands. “In all seriousness, Tris, thank you.”

“For what?”

“For making me remember what it feels like to laugh.”

I smile softly, and we stare at each other for a moment. Suddenly I’m hit with an urgency to be alone with her. “Are you ready to go home, Anderson?”

“Yes, I am, motherfucker.”